Chapter Text
“You have to be kidding me, fired?” You said, shocked, leaning over the counter.
Your boyfriend then quickly added, “And, I’m breaking up with you.”
The words could not come out of your mouth. Instead, you babbled for thirty seconds before turning on your heel to leave. You stopped a couple of times to say something, but the shock was still settling in. It wasn’t until you were outside, watching people on the street, that your senses returned. Turning around, you sucked in a breath and threw open the store door.
You pointed at your ex and loudly announced, “You have a small dick, and I’m collecting unemployment! So, hah!”
There was no feeling of triumph, but, at the very least, you could content yourself that everyone now thought your ex had a small penis.
-
Fortunately for you, a family friend felt enough pity to offer you a job. Granted, you hated going door to door trying to sell insurance in Gotham, but it paid you just enough not to be out on the street. This week, however, you were assigned to the other end of the city—The rich part. And, it certainly did live up to your expectations. These people had yards and gardens, and the air even smelled better.
If you could only find a rich man, you think you’d be very happy in such a place.
You looked down at the list of addresses your boss had given you before looking back up at the impressive sight of the house. With a sigh, you pressed the buzzer on the gate and went over your script.
“Hello, my name is—”
Before you could finish, a British accent came through the buzzer. “Are you here for the nanny position?”
Looking around, you didn’t see a reason as to why you shouldn’t say yes. Mostly to yourself, you mumbled, “I could be.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Oh, um, yes! Yes, I am.” It wouldn't hurt to try out for such a nice, possibly better-paying, position.
Suddenly, there was another buzz followed by the sound of the gate unlocking. Pushing your way through, you began the hike up the long driveway.
When you got to the terrace steps, you were winded and sweaty. Leaning against one of the end posts of the stairs, you tried to catch your breath, only stopping when you looked up to notice an old man standing before you. You quickly stood straight, trying your best to look professional as you took in the man's appearance. He looked to be about sixty, with grey hair that was balding at the top and a grey mustache on his wrinkly upper lip. His blue-grey eyes stared down at you with cool indifference.
“You really gotta warn a girl if she’s gonna take a hike,” You huffed.
“Most people drive,” The old man muttered, motioning you inside.
You snickered as you followed the old man in, not expecting the beauty or size of the house. It had an Art Deco, Edwardian mix of style that somehow worked. The foyer was a grey-blue that perfectly meshed with the white-grey checkered floors. There was a nice grey chaise with golden accents against one of the walls that sat under a large portrait of a small family. As you moved further into the foyer, you felt like the eyes in the painting were watching—judging—you.
“Would you like me to present your resume to Mr. Wayne?” Asked the man.
Luckily, you were quick on your feet. “No, I’ll do it myself. Thank you.”
The man relented, giving you a disbelieving look, and went away. You sat down on the chaise, taking out papers to write some type of passable resume. When you realized you didn't have a pen on you, you scanned the entirety of the room in hopes of spotting one.
“Ugh,” Was the sound a boy no older than seven or eight made as he stumbled from a doorway. On him, fake blood and a knife. Crying, "I'm dying!" He collapsed to the floor.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a pen, would you?” You asked, but the boy didn't respond. Defeated, you firmly decided to just wing it as the old man returned with the handsome Mr. Wayne.
“Tim,” Mr. Wayne said, voice deep and smooth as silk. “We’ve talked about this. You can’t scare the guests.”
The boy opened his eyes. “I'm studying people's reactions to gore and pain.”
The man rolled his eyes before turning his attention back to you. He held out his hand toward you, and you took it. His grip was strong, and you liked it. “I’m Bruce Wayne—”
“Oh, yeah! I’ve seen you on TV,” You exclaimed. “You looked real handsome in that suit you wore to the new library opening last month.”
Mr. Wayne seemed taken aback by the compliment, but thanked you anyway. “Just follow me into the kitchen. We can talk more there.” As he started to lead you away, he turned to the boy still lying on the floor. “Tim, go clean up, please.”
“I will, but only because you said please!” The boy cried out.
Mr. Wayne shook his head and asked you not to mind his son for now. Smiling, you replied that it was no big deal, kids were going to be kids either way. He seemed to agree with you on that and asked you more about yourself. You told him as much as you could think of, not willing or wanting to hold anything back.
It wasn't until you were sitting at the kitchen table did you finally let Mr. Wayne get a word in. Yet, he seemed more pleased to listen rather than speak. If you were a little more naive, you would have continued. By the look in his eyes, you could tell he was listening for something. What that was, you didn't know.
“Can I see your resume, then?” He asked, sitting back in the chair.
Laughing nervously, you falsely confessed, “Oh, uh. Well, you see, I lost it on my way over here.”
“Is that right?” Mr. Wayne mused, sounding like he didn’t believe you.
“Yes! Yes, it’s the damnedest thing,” You said. “I always seem to have these bouts of terrible luck.”
“Uh-huh,” He hummed.
You were going to answer when a voice called out, “Dad!”
Just then, two boys, one about fourteen and the other around ten, walked in. They seemed surprised to see you when they entered, glancing at their father before politely telling you hello. You got up, walking over to the boys and cupping their cheeks.
“My, look how handsome!” You looked over your shoulder at Mr. Wayne. “And those pretty eyes! They must get them from you.”
“We’re adopted,” The younger one said. “And I’m Jason.”
You grinned and bent over to look at the boy. “It’s nice to meet you, Jason.”
“You’re the new nanny?” The older boy asked, tone curt.
You started to answer, but Mr. Wayne cut you off. He told the elder boy, named Richard, that he could be nicer. Richard, or Dick as he called himself unfortunately, protested that Bruce was shuffling his responsibilities on some random lady from the inner city. Bruce was quick to dismiss him to his room, stating that they would speak later, before immediately apologizing to you.
“A kid makes a smart-ass comment, what’re you gonna do?” You smiled.
“Right.” Bruce cleared his throat, not paying attention to what you were saying. “Well, those two were the oldest boys, and I have one girl between them. Then, it’s Tim, Duke, and Damian. My youngest is four.”
“Trying to build a basketball team, Mr. Wayne?” You couldn’t help but laugh at your joke. He didn’t seem as amused by it, so you quickly went quiet.
“Yes, well, thank you for coming, but I don’t think I’m in the mood to hire sales girls from off the street.”
You rolled your eyes, mumbling that you could do it and that you had plenty of experience in taking care of children, as you babysat a lot when you were a teenager. Mr. Wayne didn’t seem to acknowledge you or the house phone that had started to ring.
“Alfred! Will you get that?” He called after it rang for a second longer.
“Oh, I cannot believe this,” You said, getting up and picking up the phone from the receiver. Putting it to your ear, you answered, “Wayne residence.”
“Give me that,” Mr. Wayne said and snatched the phone from your hand. “Hello?”
He went back and forth with the person on the other line, talking about how he needed a nanny. Yet, he seemed to be getting nowhere. As he tried to get the person on the other end of the line to get him a nanny, you placed yourself in front of him. Two things were bound to happen: he'd hired you as a nanny or fall madly in love with you.
After a minute or two, he put the receiver down and looked at you. You grinned, knowing that you got the job.
“You’re hired—On a trial basis!”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Wayne!” You threw yourself at him, squeezing him tight. “You won’t regret it.”
“Right,” Bruce cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll have Alfred show you to your room—”
“I get to live here?” You asked excitedly.
Bruce almost smiled, but held it back. “Yes. If you like.”
“If I like,” You said sarcastically, laughing like he was joking. “Of course I would like! Oh, it’s going to be great.”
Mr. Wayne nodded, acting like he believed you, but didn’t know for sure. He wondered if he had made the right choice not only for his children but for himself as well. How he felt didn’t matter. All that did matter was if the children liked you and if you were competent enough to look after them. It was bound to be interesting in any case.
After all, it wasn’t like he was going to fall in love with you.